"I destroyed all those notes!" the Director burst out. "No one ever saw them except me."
"And the woman who robbed your safe," Charity added, to the man's surprise. "Me. It was a good plan, but I think mine was better."
The Director sank into silence, his face gray with shame.
"What are you going to do with us?" Frank asked. "You can't let us go. We know too much."
"What do you know?" Charity countered. "You don't know who I am or where I'm going. No, you really can't do me much harm at all." She looked wistfully out the window. "We'll be in Guatemala before too long. The plane will land there, we'll take the loot out, and leave you with the plane. How's that?"
"Just great," Joe said sourly.
She patted him gently on the cheek, trying to raise his spirits. "Don't take it like that, Joe. You'll get free pretty quickly. I'll see to that. Then all you have to do is find the Guatemalan police and explain everything to them, and by the time you do that, I'll be long gone.
"It's a shame, really," Charity said, looking at the Hardys. "We made such a good team. Maybe we can work together again someday."
"Over my dead body," Joe muttered.
"Don't say things like that," Charity scolded him. "Someday you'll run into someone who'll take that suggestion seriously."
Like the Director, Joe sank into silence and fumed. He couldn't believe it. Charity had outwitted them again.
The plane dipped, and Frank saw light coming from around the front end of the plane, streaks of bright red. The sun was almost up, but it had risen to the right of them.
She's lying again, he thought to himself. If the sun is to the right, we're flying northeast. That means we're over the United States.
"This is where I get out," Charity said. The plane landed, skidding along a landing strip crudely scratched out of the desert. When the plane came to a halt, Nick opened the bay doors.
A man stood at the bottom of the ramp, half-hidden in the morning grayness. He was short and thin, with thinning dark hair that formed a widow's peak. His thick glasses reflected the lights from inside the plane. Behind him was a rent-a-van, the kind used by millions of people throughout the country. Once they got on the highway with that, Frank knew, the thieves would vanish without a trace.
The man walked up the ramp, into the lit area.
"Renner!" Joe shouted. Forgetting the handcuffs, he lunged for the insurance investigator but jerked back abruptly, stopped by the end of his chain.
Renner frowned. "What are they doing here? This ruins everything. They'll destroy my career."
"You'll be rich, remember?" Charity reminded him. "You won't need a career. Let them be."
Nick went outside and backed the rent-a-van to the cargo-bay doors. A third smuggler, the pilot, came out of the cockpit and, with Renner, Charity, and the others, shoveled the loot into boxes, piling them in the back of the van.
Frank and Joe watched this without comment. The Director, on his knees with one hand cuffed to the truck, desperately scratched and clawed at any loose baubles or money that fell as they were loaded. Laughing, the smugglers let him keep whatever he could grab.
Renner, though, snatched the loot away from the Director and stuffed it into the last box.
When the final box was in the van, Charity blew goodbye kisses to the Hardys. "Thank you, boys," she said. "I couldn't have done it without you." She walked down the ramp out the bay door to the van.
Renner called the smugglers into the cockpit of the plane. There were three dull thuds, and moments later, Renner reappeared alone.
In his hands were two containers of gasoline.
"Charity!" he called pleasantly. "Could you come back here a moment?"
Joe could see her against the spreading morning light. Now that Charity's schemes were finished, it seemed to Joe that all the energy had gone out of her. She yawned with disinterest and started up the ramp again.
Renner pressed his back against the wall next to the bay door and pulled a revolver from under his coat. He cocked the hammer.
"Run!" Joe yelled. "It's a double cross!"
Angrily Renner spun and snapped off a shot at Joe. It hit the driver's mirror on the dump truck and shattered it. Renner leapt onto the ramp. Charity had just reached the van when Renner fired a shot over her head.
"The next one goes in your back, Charity," he said.
Charity stopped. Putting her hands behind her head, she walked back into the plane. Keeping his gun at her back, Renner cuffed her to the Director, wrapping the handcuff chain around the dump truck's back bumper.
"Congratulations," she said to Renner. "You win."
Renner sneered. "But I'm not safe. I won't be, until none of you can threaten me." He went back to the gasoline containers, uncapped them, and splashed gas throughout the plane.
With a theatrical bow, Renner faced the Hardys and Charity. "I want to thank everyone for making me very, very wealthy. I'll never forget you." He hit the bay-door switch and ran outside.
Just before the bay door closed, Renner lit a match and tossed it back into the plane. The match landed in a pool of gasoline, and in a flash the plane was in flames.
Frank and Joe struggled against the handcuffs as the fire raced toward them, but the chain held. There was nothing they could do.
The plane was going up in smoke, and it would take them with it.
Chapter 18
"JOE, PULL DOWN on your end of the chain," Frank ordered.
Joe dropped to his knees. On the other side of the door, Frank pushed himself through the truck window and somersaulted to his feet on Joe's side of the door.
"Very good. And here I thought I'd have to do all your thinking for you," Charity said.
"I supposed you had this planned all along," Joe chided. Charity flashed him a sly grin.
"We haven't got time for clever chatter, Joe," Frank said as the flames grew near. With his free hand he pulled on the bumper holding Charity and the Director down. "We've got to get them out of here. Where's the handcuff key, Charity?"
"Save me," pleaded the Director.
"I'm afraid Renner has the key," Charity said coolly. "But if you'd take that pin off my lapel ... " Frank undid the gold lapel pin and handed it to her. With her free hand she inserted the sharp point of the pin into the handcuff lock — freeing both herself and the Director.
"Where do you think you're going?" Joe said as Charity bolted for the bay-door control. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her back.
"Nowhere, from the looks of that," she said, pointing out the fire that blocked the exit.
"Get into the back of the truck," Frank ordered Charity and the Director. "Come on, Joe."
The Hardys dashed to the cockpit. The three smugglers sprawled in the pilot seats, unconscious. Joe slapped Nick awake, and as the smuggler woke, the smoke filling the cabin told him the situation. "Help us get your friends out of here," Frank told Nick. "Or you won't get out either."
They dragged the other two to the back of the truck. Fire devoured the cargo bay. Still handcuffed together, Frank and Joe climbed into the driver's cab. Frank started up the engine.
Seconds later, the burning truck smashed through the side of the plane. The truck tumbled to the ground and rolled, spilling its passengers. It took one more tumble, then came to a stop on its side.
Frank and Joe, bruised, crawled out together. They ran across the sand and fell in the flash of heat as fire roared over the truck and plane. Exhausted, Frank sprawled out on the ground.
Joe raised his head. For the first time he realized they were in a desert, and as he watched, Charity and the others spread out and ran off. Joe tried to spring to his feet, but the handcuff pulled him down again. "They're getting away!" Joe said insistently. "We've got to stop them!"
"We don't need to," Frank said, his eyes closed. "Listen."
Overhead there was the familiar thwipping of helicopter blades. Three choppers descended in a triangular pattern, and armed police officers leapt out. In
seconds the police led Charity, the Director, and the smugglers back to Frank and Joe. The Hardys stood up to face a scarred Mexican agent who was with the police.
"Chavo," Frank said in surprise. "Glad you could make it."
"Si," replied Chavo. "As you can see, I really am a policeman. We caught all the others on Puerto de Oro, all except these." He swept his arm at Charity and the Director. "Once we find the stolen jewels and cash, the case is, as you say, all wrapped up."
"Mind if we borrow a helicopter and some cops?" Joe said. He held up their cuffed wrists. "And could we get out of these things? There's no key, but the cops have experience with this sort of thing, don't they?"
Chavo went to speak to the police, and a second later came back with an officer, who had Charity in tow. She poked her pin into the locks, and in seconds the handcuffs popped open.
"This lady has something to say to you," Chavo said.
The smile on Charity's face was warm and sincere, without a hint of deceit. "Looks like you won this one, Joe. Maybe next time it'll be my turn again."
"There's not going to be a next time," Joe said. He put the handcuffs on her and handed her over to the policeman. "Don't let her out of your sight, officer. She's tricky."
Dust and sand were whipped around by the wind from the blades of a helicopter as it set down a dozen yards from Chavo and the Hardys. On the helicopter were the markings of the U.S. Border Patrol. "Come," Chavo said. Sprinting, he led the Hardys to the chopper. A door flew open, and a border patrolman reached out to help them inside. There were two other patrolmen on board, as well as the pilot. As the door clicked shut behind them, the helicopter rose twirling into the sky, to fly in ever-widening circles over the desert.
"There's San Diego," Joe exclaimed, spotting the downtown area off in the distance.
"Is that what we're looking for?" Chavo asked.
"No," Frank replied. They sped across the sky, and Frank scoured the roads that led across the desert. One led north and petered out after a mile. Most of the others ran toward San Diego, but there was no sign of a van on any of them. "Head east," he said to the pilot over the pounding of the blades.
On the road to the east, a plume of dust rose. At the tip of the plume was the rent-a-van.
"That's him," Joe said. As the helicopter flew over the van, Chavo opened a footlocker inside the police helicopter and took out several shotguns. He handed one to Frank.
Frank shook his head. "I'd rather not use a gun if I can avoid it."
"Renner won't give us any more trouble," Joe said as he settled in the seat next to the pilot. He snatched a microphone from the dashboard and asked the pilot, "Is there an external loudspeaker on this thing?" The pilot nodded and switched it on.
"You might as well give up, Renner," Joe said into the microphone, and he was thrilled to hear his voice boom back at him from the outside. "You can't get away."
"Good job, Joe," Frank said, his eyes on the road. "He's speeding up."
"Take it down," Chavo ordered with a sigh. He cocked the shotgun. "Get ready."
The chopper set down on the road, blocking it. As the van began backing up, the three border guards charged out of the chopper, firing warning shots into the air.
The van came to a dead stop. Renner stepped out, gun in hand. Spreading his arms wide, he crouched down and dropped the gun to the sand, then stood with his hands up. The border patrolmen rushed him.
"What's the matter?" Joe asked Renner as the police pushed the insurance man to the helicopter. "How come you're not throwing your weight around now?"
Feebly Renner looked at the patrolmen and said, "My name is Elroy Renner. I'm an insurance investigator, and you're interfering with a case. You'll all be in big trouble."
"Save it," Frank said. One by one, he emptied Renner's pockets.
A large sapphire fell from his pants pocket to the sand. Joe crouched to pick it up.
"Well, well," Joe said, holding the Star of Ishtar up for examination. "I guess this gets Chief Collig off the hook. You stole it all along."
"Get him out of here," Chavo told the patrolmen, and they loaded Renner into the chopper. They watched as it took off.
Turning to the van, Joe said, "I guess we'd better take it back."
"Perhaps ..." Chavo said in a dreamy voice. His eyes glazed over, and a hungry smile came to his lips. "So much wealth in this van. Split three ways, it could make some people very rich."
"Are you sure you're a cop?" Frank asked.
Laughing, Chavo gave a happy-go-lucky shrug. "A man can dream, my friend." He climbed behind the steering wheel of the van. "Do you need a lift anywhere?"
Frank and Joe got in. "How about back to what's left of the plane?"
Chavo shrugged again, and in silence they drove to the west.
The van pulled up beside the charred remains of the plane, near a cluster of policemen who had gathered around the criminals. Joe noticed their agitation. He hopped out of the cab and ran to them, scanning for a face that was missing, feeling his own face flushing with anger.
"Where's the woman?" he shouted. "Where's Charity?"
The police officer Joe had left Charity with turned red with embarrassment, and Joe felt his temper rising. "I can't explain it," the officer said. "I was handcuffed to her one minute, then there was this commotion and I turned away, and the next minute the handcuff was open and she was gone." Seeing Joe's growing rage, he hastily added, "But she can't have gotten far in this desert. As soon as we're in the air, we'll spot her."
"You won't," Joe assured the policeman. He realized Frank was now standing beside him, and exclaimed, "I don't believe it! She got away again." He shook his head, the anger flooding out of him. Somehow there seemed no point in staying mad.
"Look on the bright side," Frank said. "At least this time she went away empty-handed. We'll get her in the next round."
"Oh, no," Joe said as they walked back to Chavo, ready to begin the trip home. "We are never having anything to do with that woman ever again."
Frank nodded his agreement. But deep down, both of them knew that Joe was wrong.
The End.
Thick as Thieves Page 9
